The captain placed his hands squarely on the arms of the chair. Though he clearly intended to say something uncomfortable, he kept his attention trained unwaveringly on Nightfall. He would not miss a covered flash of emotion, the slightest twitch that might give away something hidden.
With that in mind, Nightfall schooled his expression to cautious interest.
“Merchant, I want you to take command of my ship.”
Nightfall blinked, startled into silence.
Not again.
Everywhere he went, it seemed someone dragged him into the position of highest authority. And, every time, the suggestion caught him unwilling and wholly off his guard. He had never heard of any captain voluntarily sacrificing his command to anyone, could not fathom a seaman doing so for a stranger, could not imagine a man as self-assured and calculating as the pirate captain would ever blithely surrender his ship and his crew. “Sir,” Nightfall finally managed, the effort of holding his shock in check drying his mouth to cotton. “I am utterly certain I misheard you.”
Chapter 15
A man is most welcome everywhere if he properly times his departure. Always, my friend, always leave them wanting more of you.
—Dyfrin of Keevain, the demon’s friend
I
N THE CAPTAIN’S spacious cabin lodged below the poop deck, Nightfall studied the well muscled man in front of him as though he had gone mad.
“You did not mishear me.” The captain’s voice remained as steady and strong as always, and he did not flinch or look away. “I need you to take command of the
Seaworthy
.”
It was the first time Nightfall had heard the name of the ship, and it gave no hint to her purpose. It could have belonged to a navy ship or a pleasure craft, a merchant vessel or a jolly boat. It conjured no images of sharks or warriors upon the sea, presumably on purpose. “Captain, I—” Uncertain where to go from there, he stopped and restarted. “You can’t—”
“I’m the captain of this ship. I can do as I please.”
“Of course, you can, sir.” Nightfall struggled to make a coherent point. “But that doesn’t mean your men will accept it.They don’t strike me as a trusting and cheerful lot.”
The captain rose suddenly, a quick reminder of his size, which dwarfed Nightfall in every way. “That’s why we’ll have to think of a way to convince them.”
Nightfall tensed but otherwise did not react to the captain’s abrupt change in position. It currently posed him no threat. “Why?”
Apparently starting to pace, the captain froze in mid stride. “Why?”
“Why?” Nightfall repeated. “Why is landlocked royalty hunting you? Why would you even consider turning over command of your ship to me? And why do you think I would accept such a burden?”
For several uncomfortable moments, the captain remained still, locked into an unfinished stride. Finally, he turned. “Do the reasons matter?”
“Entirely.”
“Why?”
Nightfall sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He was treading on thin ice. “Because I won’t do it in ignorance.”
“You won’t . . . do it?” The captain spoke in a mocking voice. “You won’t do it, eh, merchant? You’ll die with the rest of us?”
The captain was clearly calling a bluff that did not exist. Nightfall kept his tone calm. “If need be.”
Now it was the captain’s turn to ask, “Why?”
Nightfall stayed true to his current character. “Sir, I’m a man of honor, and my livelihood depends on my remaining an honest man. People know that when they come to Balshaz, they get exactly what I’ve promised and at a fair price. I need a reason to destroy a reputation it took me a lifetime to build.” Spoken aloud, the words seemed like desperate irony to Nightfall, though they suited Balshaz.
No wonder no one tracks me across aliases.
The captain’s brows arched high in clear incredulity. “Your life is not reason enough?”
Nightfall continued his act of nonchalance. “I’m not wholly convinced mine’s forfeit. I’ve dealt with Lifthran many times, including her nobles; and the truth is on my side. I’m
not
a pirate.”
“Men are rightly judged by the company they keep.”
Another shrug from Nightfall. “I’ll take my chances.”
The captain’s face acquired a pink tinge that signaled rising anger. “So, you’re sure you can talk your way out of the hangman’s noose?”
“Not sure,” Nightfall admitted, leaving the captain a necessary opening. “Just hopeful.”
“If that’s your strategy . . .” The captain spoke through gritted teeth, color fanning darker across his cheeks. “. . . then you give us little reason not to disembowel you before the runners catch us.”
Nightfall could not wholly suppress a shiver. He turned the captain a nervous smile meant to tread the fine line between maintaining the confidence necessary to hold the captain’s respect without appearing smug. “Please, sir. I never said I wouldn’t help you, only that I require an explanation before doing so.” He knew he needed to say more. Otherwise, the captain might believe he had relented only to save his own hide. “I like you and what little Sudian told me about you, though right now I’d like to pound him unconscious for putting me in this position.” He avoided the image of one persona attacking another and the impossibility of the threat. “I couldn’t live with the guilt of sending a group of men to their deaths, even if they are pirates.”
The scarlet of the captain’s cheeks dulled back to vivid pink. “So you will help us.”
“Only if I get my explanation.” Nightfall had to insist. “Ignorance can lead to lethal mistakes.”
The captain sighed deeply. He sat, shoulders drooping. He looked uncomfortably out of character in apparent defeat; but Nightfall knew it was the cornered predator, not the angry one, who was most likely to attack. “All right.”
Nightfall waited in silence for the story to begin.
“My name is Celdurant.” The captain paused, as if waiting for some significant sign of recognition.
It did have a ring of familiarity to Nightfall; but, as he could not quite place it, he said nothing.
“Celdurant el-Bartokus Arbonne.” The words emerged rusty, as if he had not spoken them in many years and without the fluency that usually accompanied the repetition of one’s own name. The “el” signified a legitimate son, and the rest of the name dawned suddenly on Nightfall.
“As in Ozwalt el-Bartokus Arbonne.” Nightfall nodded, understanding. “You’re the Baron of Lifthran’s . . . brother?”
“Half brother,” the captain corrected. “Ozwalt’s mother died in childbirth, and our father remarried mine.” It was a distinction only royals ever seemed to find significant. As if to directly challenge the idea, he added, “Not that it mattered to either of us in youth. We were simply brothers until Ozwalt reached his teens and the mantle of rulership crept toward him. At about that same time, Mother perished in an accident, along with our youngest brother, leaving only Father, us two boys, and our sister.” He looked expectantly at Nightfall, clearly seeking a reaction to the story so far.
Now that he had Captain Celdurant talking, Nightfall did not wish to discourage him in any way. To show he was listening to the gist, as well as the details, he supplied, “An abrupt lesson in mortality.”
“Indeed. Ozwalt didn’t worry for his own life, but for our father’s. If the old man died, it fell to the eldest son to rule in his place, and that scared him.”
“Scared?” Nightfall shared an observation gleaned from Volkmier. “Most young men would relish the chance to rule a major city and its territories.” He winked. “When we’re that age, we’re all perfect, you know.”
Celdurant could not help but smile. “True. But my brother never developed that cocky, youthful confidence, and I’m afraid I had a hand in it, along with Mother, may her spirit dwell in the highest, happiest reaches of the Great Father’s afterlife.” He made a religious gesture and rolled his gaze toward the upper deck.
Nightfall nudged him back to reality. “Did you fight with your brother?”
Celdurant shook his head, gaze still turned upward. “No more than brothers usually do. Perhaps less. But I had a few . . . um . . . features my older brother lacked.” He finally looked back at Nightfall, obviously trying to frame his next words in a context that would not make him appear vain. “My father was not a handsome man. His first marriage was arranged for him, a political royal union to please the populace and keep peace between neighboring baronies. There was little love between them. As I understand it, she was homely and boorish; but she produced the requisite heir, though the process killed her. That left my father free to marry whomever he pleased, and he chose a woman of vast intelligence and beauty with whom he fell madly in love.”
Nightfall supplied the details the captain dodged. “So, when it comes to appearances, you favor your mother?”
Celdurant bobbed his head, emphasizing the soft, black curls. “Being a younger son also freed me from certain responsibilities. I saw court as a game, anticipating the suggestions of my father’s advisers. To Ozwalt, it was always a desperate chore. He had to be right, so he spent most of his time second-guessing his own decisions. Over time, my father turned to me for answers first, and that drove my brother fairly crazy.”
Nightfall began to see the pattern. “So, you had the looks and the intelligence; and that made Ozwalt jealous.”
The captain chewed his upper lip, the first nervous gesture he had displayed in Nightfall’s presence. “I realize that now. At the time, it never occurred to me. He was my older brother, and I idolized him. He was going to be the baron, by the Father. If anyone should feel jealous . . .”
Nightfall let him trail off, certain his interest came through clearly enough.
“And that’s where Mother made her mistake. She saw I had a knack for attracting women and commanding men; my judgments seemed clear and sound to her. She petitioned my father to bypass Ozwalt and crown me baron instead.”
Nightfall cringed. “I could see where that might bother your brother.”
“He wasn’t supposed to know. Neither was I. But my sister overheard a conversation, and she never had much skill when it came to keeping secrets. That’s when Ozwalt began emphasizing the
half
in our brotherhood, reminding me he had a full complement of royal blood.” The captain shrugged, a grin pulling at the corners of his lips. “Not that it bothered me. I never really understood, or even cared about, his point. I never seriously considered I would wear the crown of Lifthran. I believed him when he dismissed the whole thing as a means for Mother to place her own bloodline on the throne.” He considered briefly, the smile never making it to fruition. “It took me until adulthood to realize the nastiness inherent in that comment.”
Nightfall only nodded. He had little true understanding of family bonds. His father might be any man who paid to use his mother’s body, and she had kicked and belittled him. Dyfrin was the nearest he had come to having a sibling.
“Father took my mother’s death hard. He gradually withered away from grief, while I trained to become commander of Lifthran’s elite troops. Ozwalt took the throne without challenge, and he found a woman of standing and great beauty who agreed to become his wife.” Celdurant’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth twisted, betraying a revulsion stronger than Ozwalt’s obvious envy. “Her name is Esmarda.” He gave it a sneering pronunciation that revealed a fiery loathing.
Nightfall knew the name. “She is still the baroness.” He revealed what he had learned as Balshaz. “And she has a penchant for pearls, particularly the rarer pink ones.”
The captain stared a moment; then, his face relaxed. “Of course, merchant. You would know that.”
Nightfall raised his hands in a gesture of clarity.
The captain’s sea-foam eyes trained directly on Nightfall’s face, again reading every subtlety. He had clearly come to the crux of his story. “She came to live at the barony during the wedding preparations. One night, I found her in my bed, dressed indecently. She said she was marrying my brother, but it was me she wanted. She claimed I fired a passion in her Ozwalt could never fulfill and suggested I play the secret role of keeping the baroness happy.” He closed his eyes. “Devastatingly exquisite that face of hers. Her body . . .” He shivered. “But for the love of and loyalty to my brother, I resisted. I sent her back to her room, unsatisfied, and assured her I would pretend this night had never happened.”
Nightfall realized he had earlier misjudged the captain’s appetites and reminded himself why one should never rely on impressions. “Very noble, Captain.” The details caught him by surprise. It seemed impossible a man with so much principle could become the leader of a bloody band of pirates.
“Of me, perhaps, but not of her. For the story she told my brother was one of trickery and rape.”
“And your brother believed her?”
“I think he wanted it to be true; it gave him a legitimate reason to hate me. My sister warned me, and I escaped bare seconds before my own men came for me.”
Nightfall needed to know. “What was your sentence?”
“Death.” The captain spoke the word with far more ease and grace then he had the name of his vengeful sister-in-law.
Now, Nightfall understood Celdurant’s discomfort at the prospect of facing Lifthranian justice, but one thing still did not fit. “So how did you turn to piracy?”
The captain grunted. “You want it all, don’t you, merchant?”
“If you want my help, I need to know.”
The captain did not hesitate long. He had already revealed the significant story, and Nightfall guessed little in the further details could harm him. “I swore off women that day, and sailing seemed the best way to avoid their wiles. After spending my whole life as a royal and a leader, I didn’t take well to the menial life as a regular sailor. Eventually, I got command of my own ship. I didn’t have much experience with the sea, though, since I grew up landlocked.” He made a strong, cutting gesture to indicate he had skipped unnecessary parts of the story. “It all came together here.”